


The Whiteness of Sand

by SlayerSlayer (BittersweetParakeet)



Series: A Midwinter's Night Dream [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Drabble, Explicit Consent, F/M, Implied Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Implied Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss of Virginity, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 09:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BittersweetParakeet/pseuds/SlayerSlayer
Summary: In Dorne, we do not hurt little girls.Oberyn surprises Sansa in her chambers.





	The Whiteness of Sand

Oberyn Martell was danger and desire made flesh. Suave, svelte, ever-so-slightly feminine, he was the supremest sin.

That was why Sansa’s mouth went dry when she entered her chambers and saw him draped languidly across her bed. He wore a wolfish grin that suited him as well as his flowing, burnt orange robes, and his liquid, black eyes sparkled. Prey had come to the predator. It was time for the kill.

“Lady Sansa, forgive me for my intrusion.” His accent was lusty, exotic. It was music.

Sansa dipped into a hasty curtsy, wobbling in a most anxious fashion. She was nervous, terrified. She was alone with a strange man who seduced indiscriminately, man or woman, whore or septa.

“Prince Oberyn. I mean not to o-offend, b-but I am a m-m-married woman, and it would not please L-Lord T-Tyrion to have you in my chambers,” Sansa stammered.

The prince rolled off the bed in one fluid motion, and he closed the space between them in two loping strides. “It pleases me to be here,” said Oberyn. “I am no stranger to women wed to other men.”

Sansa backed against the door, one hand resting on the handle. Her heart hammered in her throat, threatening to suffocate her.

“You are afraid,” Oberyn observed.

Sansa could only manage a shallow nod. Of course she was afraid. She had learned long ago that men, noble and not, wished to do to her terrible, shameful things. She remembered the riot in the streets when Princess Myrcella went to Dorne, of Lollys Stokeworth and how she was raped half a hundred times. How that almost happened to her.

Oberyn stroked Sansa’s face. It was a tender gesture, but she trembled under his touch. His fingers were leathery and calloused from his martial days. Hands like her father’s.

“Do not be afraid, Sansa Stark. In Dorne, we do not hurt little girls,” he murmured gently.

Sansa shook her head. “I-I am a woman flowered,” she insisted, turning pink.

“Don’t you mean ‘deflowered?’” laughed Oberyn. “With a husband like the Imp…”

Sansa flushed deeper pink, and her hands clutched at her skirt, balling the fabric into her fists.

“Our marriage is unconsummated,” she admitted, steadily but embarrassed.

Surprise flickered across Oberyn’s face for a brief moment, and his smile wavered. This did not last long. A knowing smirk curved across his lips, and his eyes darkened. The Red Viper was poised to strike.

“A shame,” he said, lightly. He stepped closer, resting his hands against the door on either side of Sansa’s shoulders. She was trapped, and as she opened her mouth to speak, Oberyn cut her off.

“I have had women in every one of the Seven Kingdoms. Men, too. Let me have you, Sansa Stark.” He brought his face close to hers, and their breaths intermingled. He smelled like blood orange and wine, and Sansa swore she was getting drunk just from that.

“I will not take you by force. That is not my way.”

A thrill ran through Sansa’s body, hot and tingly. She wanted to. She so wanted to be loved and desired by people she did not revile, and Oberyn Martell was not a vile person. He was handsome, seasoned, and beautiful.

Everything her husband and Joffrey were not.

“I am yours, Prince Oberyn,” she whispered. Oberyn did not hesitate. He latched his lips onto hers in a deep, patient kiss. His hands cupped her small face, holding her steady. Her hands grasped at his robes.

He swept her up effortlessly, carrying her and gently depositing her on the bed. His touches were soft, and he murmured sweet words as he helped her undress. She shook the pins out of her hair, letting the auburn tresses fan over her shoulders.

That afternoon was one of sighs and moans. When she was growing up, she had always been taught that sex was a duty she must perform for her husband, and never could she have imagined it to feel so good. Perhaps this was why the Dornish were so wanton and lazy. Who would want to abstain from such luxury?

The sun was beginning to sink by the time they were thoroughly finished. Soon, someone would come fetch them both from their quarters to eat supper with the king. With Oberyn’s seed drying on her stomach and her maiden’s blood streaked on her inner thighs, Sansa eased herself from the bed.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Sansa?” Oberyn asked as he gathered his things from the floor.

Sansa smiled. A genuine smile, not a false one plastered to please false people.

The prince dressed quickly, planting a quick kiss on Sansa’s cheek before slipping out the door to his rooms. It would be disastrous if anybody found out about their tryst, even more so if their words reached the king.

Despite this, Sansa was filled with warmth, a feeling she had not experienced since the Blackwater glowed green and a hulking figure with half a face had demanded a song and kiss.


End file.
